Ace In The Hole
by Love is a Mayer
Summary: When John gets captured on his way home from the supermarket, he finds himself struggling to stop Moriarty's plan and to unravel his secrets. Moriarty is amused at his attempts. Rated T for violence and minor language, might become M. Will become slash.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hi everyone! This is my first JohnxMoriarty story, so feedback is much appreciated ^_^ I know this chapter isn't long at all but I promise that it will become longer after this point._**

**_Disclaimer:None of these characters are mine, no matter how I wish it_**

* * *

If John had known what awaited him outside the flat that morning, he would have never stepped out.

It was inevitable, though, really.

If Sherlock hadn't been such an ass, starting in on one of his speeches about John being "clumsy" and "a complete failure to the human species" and "unintellectual" then John wouldn't have been forced to snap back at him, incredulously offending the so called heartless detective, which then prompted Sherlock to deduce every little embarrassing fact about him. In short, John was fed up with being bullied by his flat mate simply because he spoke his mind out loud.

So, to put it fairly, it was really all Sherlock's fault.

John leaned in towards the computer above the cashier's head, displaying his total for the groceries. He squinted, wishing that he had brought his glasses along, but the fight had jumbled his mind too much. He was tempted to just ditch the food all together as the line behind him grew more agitated, but he was certain that later on he and Sherlock were going to need it. So with a loud sigh, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out fifty pounds, crying inwardly as his the cashier accepted his hard earned money.

"Have a wonderful day, sir," the burly women manning lane four said, smiling brightly as she gave him his bags.

"Thank you," John said quietly in return as he accepted the green plastic bags, nearly being knocked over when the line behind him moved up. Without even as much as a look their way, John ambled out of the little supermarket, whistling cheerfully the whole time.

John turned and headed down towards an empty street- it was the quickest and quietest way to the flat, despite the ever growing chances of being jumped in one of the alleyways.

The eerily stillness around him began to grow louder with every step, adding to his already growing paranoia. John's eyes flicked around quickly as he shuffled down another dirty alleyway. It was, in every sense of the word, a dump with garbage bags littering every inch of the stoned place. A loud crash sounded behind him, causing a little yelp to escape.

He looked over his shoulder quickly, calling on his war instincts as he examined the dark street; no one was there. With a shrug, John began to walk faster towards the flat that was now appearing in the distance.

Because of his alarmingly high growing sense of fear, John hadn't noticed the black shaped figure walking silently behind him, reaching out towards his neck.

Maybe it was because the safety of the flat was practically right in his face, the thought of Sherlock besides him, and maybe it was, at that point, because John was flooded with relief upon knowing that the detective would save him from any threat.

Once it did filter through, that someone had wrapped their arms around his neck and had shoved a cloth to his mouth, John dropped his bags and bucked violently. There was another person in front of them holding an object up to the sky, but he paid them no mind as he tried to reach around towards his attacker.

The two of them tumbled towards the wet pavement with an all mighty crash. John's head hit the ground harder than he would've liked, giving his attacker enough room to pin his arms behind his back.

"How's that going to-"John began, right before something cracked sharply against his head, causing all his muscles to fail him. White dots flashed behind his eyes as the wet pavement rushed towards his face.

Ah, Sherlock.

This was all his fault.

* * *

**_Oh, I feel horrible :/_**

**_Any advice? Mistakes I made? _**

**_I would love to get any kind of review, as this paring isn't commonly known, so I'd like to see where I stand with it_**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again, everyone!**

**A big thank-you to all who reviewed. I was so excited! I hope this chapter meets your expectations.**

**Disclaimer:Not mine(yet!:)**

* * *

Even with having been hurt in the war more times than he liked, John still wasn't prepared for the white hot pain that coursed through his wound as he woke up, tied to a wooden kitchen chair in some dingy cellar room. Bending his stiff neck, John evaluated the room, his eyes flicking towards the only door in the room right as the two kidnappers walked in.

John paid them no attention as he tried to wiggle free of the leather cord that bound him to the chair he was sitting in.

"Ah, but did you have to hurt his pretty face? It's what keeps Sherlock coming for more." The shorter man whined as he stood by the door's entrance.

John stiffened. He'd heard that voice before, but where? "Who are you? What's going on here?"

The shorter man stopped his low rumbling as he turned to address John. "God, I hate THAT! Why do you always have to ask so many questions; always needing to know every piece of fact. Can't you just go with the flow and ride the wave, Johnny boy?"

John forced himself to breath air into his lungs, compelling himself to overcome the panic that was beginning to swallow him-the throbbing behind his head and the presence of a psychotic murderer was never a good mix. In fact (John's heart pounded faster than ever,) the man was probably going to stab him clean through right then. He braced himself for the death blow from the grinning psychopath.

It never came.

Instead, John slowed his breathing with great effort, becoming aware of his injuries. He was almost positive that he had a concussion, if the stars were anything to go by; his ribs were broken since every breath seared his insides, and his whole back was stiffening ominously.

"Not Sebs best work, I'll grant you that," Moriarty muttered disdainfully as his eyes raked John's face.

"How can you...I thought- but you shot yourself in the mouth! Sherlock saw it all," John gasped incredulously; the bursts of pain making him grit his teeth as he shouted his surprise. He flinched when two hands roughly grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.

"Wake up, Johnny! That was sooooo yesterday. I'm not completely stupid, you know; there are ways to fake a death. Your Sherlock is an example of that."

John winced. "This isn't real, is it? I'm dreaming right now and you're going to just disappear because there is no way you're alive, Moriarty."

Moriarty sighed impatiently, like he was explaining something hard to a child. "Did you hear what I just said!? I faaaaaaked being dead, duh. It was crucial in order for Sherlock to kill himself, which he didn't even do! I'm going to have to have a little chat with him later about that, now that I think about it. I spent almost a year planning the brilliant ending, what with the cryptic messages, and the threats and the touch with the underwear. Really. What. Is. Wrong. With. Him. Johnny boy? I did this all for him and he doesn't even appreciate it."

John blinked. He hadn't quite expected Moriarty to switch personalities so fast. It almost scared him. Almost. Now he just needed to calm the guy down before he got shot in the head.

"I'm sure he appreciates it in his own way. Sherlock's not like everybody else, and it takes-"

"SHUT UP! SHUT UP, SHUT UP, SHUT UUUUUUUP!"

John cringed weakly as Moriarty roared in his face.

"I am so tired of everyone praising him! He NEVER has to work to be a genius; it comes naturally to him while I had to work for it. He flaunts it around like a pretty little doll, but he doesn't understand; he threw the gift away while I cherished it! That's what separates us, John, did you know that?" He asked, switching back to his other personality.

"He doesn't value the gift like_ I_ do. And that's why he's going to die along with every other worthless soul out there."

"You're mad." John spit, wrenching his face free from the man's death grip.

Moriarty's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly together as he watched. All his other toys had merely stared back at him, frozen in their seats with fear and stayed that way until he got bored, silencing them with a bullet between the eyes. Nobody ever dared taunt him into anger, and certainly nobody ever asked questions the way the army doctor had.

And that just wasn't going to work out for him, especially since his partner in crime was watching the whole thing from across the room.

With a clap, Moriarty let a feral smile drag across his face. "Well, this has been delightful, really, Johnny. Though, I must be getting on with other plans."

"Do those plans include, Sherlock, by chance?" John piped up, causing Moriarty to freeze on his way towards the exit.

Moriarty turned around and smiled at him faux-sympathetically. "Yeah, honey. It looks like they do, but don't worry! He'll be meeting you in hell pretty soon, by the looks of it."

"What do you me-"

John's desperate shout was interrupted as the taller man -Sebastian- pulled his gun out of his holster and aimed it towards John's head.

"Any last words, before you die, Johnny boy?"

"Just _do_ it." John said vehemently, staring down the barrel. He knew there was no way out of this; that he was going to die either way. It just saddened him a little that he couldn't say goodbye to Sherlock in his last moments.

The seconds seemed to drag by rather slowly after that; John still staring down the pistol and Sebastian, finger on trigger, awaiting his master's command.

"Wait." Moriarty called with his fingers raised up in the air. "Hold off, Sebastian."

"Sir?"

"Don't kill him just yet. I think we're going to need him later on, and he might be a nice distraction while I plan Sherlock's death."

John was silent for a moment, too shocked to say or do anything instead of staring back dumbstruck as Sebastian didn't object, clicking the safety on his gun and stuffing it back in his holster.

"Why are you letting me go? What could I possibly do for you?" John demanded once the shock wore off.

"You should be grateful, Dr. Watson." Moriarty drawled as he pulled his sun glasses out. "I'm sparing your life for today."

John felt weak- kneed as Sebastian cut his binds. "Yeah, but why me? Why not Sherlock?"

Moriarty noticed the look on John's face and smirked, interpreting it perfectly. "This game that we're going to play, you and me, it isn't for someone like him. Ciao, Dr. Watson. Oh and please refrain from telling Sherlock or anybody else about this; I don't think I have to remind you of the consequences, now do I?"

John shook his head weakly as Moriarty smiled, opening the door. "Good. I look forward to seeing you again, Johnny."

The cellar door slammed shut loudly behind Sebastian as John fell to the ground in worry for what was to come in the future.

* * *

**_Heh- Moriarty is something, isn't he?_**

**_I loved getting reviews, especially so early in the project, and I really hope you guys can write a little something about the story, even if it's just to yell at me for messing up or being confusing or something. I'll take what I can get!_**

**_I'll probably update tomorrow or Sunday, and thanks again for my brilliant Beta: Mentally-Unstable ^_^_**


	3. Chapter 3

**_I know I should be waiting for my beta but I got to excited to wait to put this chapter up, so here you go!^-^ Though, when she sends me the revised one I'll change it, so be warned._**

**_Warning: Swearing, but mild._**

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing of Sherlock, no matter how I wish it._**

* * *

There _was_ no way he was going to be able to get past Sherlock without the consulting detective finding out what had happened. It was in Sherlock's nature to practically just blurt out demeaning facts about another person's life, and John wouldn't put it past him, especially if he could spot an airplane pilot by his left thumb. Heck, the minute he walked through the door, Sherlock was bound to figure out that he had spent half the night with Moriarty; albeit tied up and immobile, but with him all the same.

So it was with a hardened eye, and a stiff jaw that John begrudgingly pushed the front door to the flat open. He stumbled in, highly aware of the pain that flooded his skull as heavy metal spilled out from a radio near the window.

"Sherlock, what in the hell is this? "John tried yelling above the music, before he realized that the detective couldn't hear him from his spot in the kitchen.

With a cluck of his tongue, John turned the horrible music off. "Warn me when you decide to blow our speaker sets with that, okay?"

Sherlock distractingly glanced up at his flat mate. "Oh, you're back." Was all he said as he dove back into his science experiment. He hadn't even bothered to ask John how he was or where he'd been, which kind of ticked John off. Yeah, he was supposed to keep the game between him and Moriarty a secret, a much hidden secret, but at least Sherlock could've shown some compassion for his friend.

"Oh, yeah I'm fine, Sherlock. Just popped out for a bit of tea was all. No need to worry about where I went." John said sarcastically, standing in the kitchen's doorway.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Was that a smirk? John was going to call it a smirk. "I already know where you were, John. No need to be stupid when all the facts are in front of me."

His mouth went dry.

He wasn't smart enough, wasn't quick enough to cover up his emotions. Sherlock figured out what had happened with only one look. Why? Why in the world did Moriarty ever think he could try hiding it from London's smartest detective?

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "The only question is, why would you try to hide it, John?"

John was having trouble not throwing up on Sherlock's shoes. "I don't know what you mean, Sherlock. I went for a walk after you _attacked_ me."

"Yes, but it was a mental attack, not a physical one. Your body wasn't harmed in any way when you left the flat. Scratches; there are multiple scratches on your right arm, maybe some on the other, hard to tell. You're also swaying like you're drunk, but judging from your sister's habit, you don't drink, so concussion it is. Now, you didn't get jumped when you were walking so someone attacked you. The only possible answer of all the facts."

"Yeah, but…but that's just some stupid rubbage you came up with to sound smart. There's no way you found that all out with just one look."

His words were reasonable enough, but Sherlock's voice was laced with a satisfaction that John found incredibly aggravating. "Was it the lie low?"

John stared in the silence that followed. "Wait… excuse me?"

"I asked was it the lie low. You're not too keen when it comes to women, John, so it was obviously something you said to that _thing_ you were dating."

"It wasn't- you weren't…this whole time you were talking about Sarah?" John sputtered, half way between anger and utter relief. "Oh, this is fantastic. This is absolutely fantastic, Sherlock!"

Sherlock stopped scribbling down formulas and stared at John for a bleak moment. "Wait, why are you happy? You have just gotten beat up by your girlfriend."

John pressed a hand to his head to try and stifle the laughter. "I didn't get beat up by her, Sherlock. We went to a bar to talk and… well someone came onto her a bit roughly. I was only trying to protect her." He felt horrible for lying to his friend, but it was for the best.

"And you thought you could help?" Sherlock snorted and went back to his experiment. "Try calling Lestrade next time, John. I'm sure he'll be happy to help you as you were the one to hook him up with Mycroft."

John shook his head, another round of laughter bubbling up in his throat as he shuffled towards his room.

"I'll take note of that," he called out, closing the wooden door.

* * *

John was mostly done getting undressed (the shirt had been a little hard tor remove due to his crudely stitched head) when he noticed the card.

It was propped innocently against his pillow as if waiting for John to grab it and rip it in two. It was only a playing card, but somehow it chilled John to the bone. The item itself was one of those ordinary poker game cards, its back was decorated with an intricate vintage design, and it was fairly new, save for the crease line in the corner as if someone had been nervously folding the tip. Something Sherlock had left him, maybe as an apology?

John moved closer, flipping the card around.

It looked like a regular Ace card, except for four little words written in loopy hand writing.

_It begins, Johnny boy._

Realization made John's blood run cold.

Moriarty.

Moriarty had been _here_.

Here, in John's _room_.

His stomach dipped and rolled, and he struggled not to completely black out as he stared. Now that he was looking, really looking, he could easily make out Moriarty's face hidden in the corner of the card, looking at him with that evil smirk.

John breathed in a shaky breath as his fingers combed through his hair. "Okay this is a bit not good, yeah. Just…calm down, John."

He decided that over doing it was getting him nowhere. It was probably just one of Moriarty's little tricks to scare him into-_ping!_

John nearly had a heart attack as he groped around for his phone.

**Hey, sexy! I see you found my little gift. Did you like the touch with the card? I thought it was a rather cute idea on my part, but then that was the point. Now, answer this question: will you play the game?-M**

His heart thumped uncertainly as he re-read the text. He took a deep breath, and poised his thumbs over the keyboard.

Then he stopped.

Thoughts, mostly fears, were pooling in his gut like lead. Why would Moriarty risk doing something so close to Sherlock? What kind of game was he trying to get at here? And by texting back, John was pretty sure he was signing away his right to freedom. What would he do then? The phone's screen ominously went black, and John forced himself to relax.

He was about to turn his phone off and toss it onto his pile of clothes when another text pinged in.

**I don't have to wait for your answer, Johnny boy, because I already know it.-M**

John gritted his teeth. This was impossible; Moriarty was a madman.

Another text:

**But of course, if you don't answer, there's always that little blue school.-M**

John's stomach dropped. There it was- the big threat, the hook to follow the bait. Moriarty knew that John would bend to his will if he threatened innocent lives, and what if he was bluffing?

Only, John thought with an ugly twisting feeling, Moriarty wasn't lying this time. He made that perfectly clear by kidnapping him right off the streets. He displayed his deceptive skills beautifully, planning and doing everything without alerting the senses of Sherlock. If John thought Sherlock was a master, than Moriarty was the king, looking out over his pawns and directing them whenever he saw fit.

Unless he played Moriarty's game.

He looked at the phone in his hand for a few painful minutes. With unsteady fingers, he pressed his fingers into the keyboard and began typing.

**I've got no choice, now do I?**

While John waited for the reply, a million and one things flew through his head. Things like Moriarty killing him in his sleep, like the look on Sherlock's face when he found out about Moriarty, like how _ignorant _he was, thinking that if he played with Moriarty, then maybe the guy wouldn't kill anyone in the meantime. Of course he was going to kill people; just because he was playing with someone else didn't men he couldn't kill during that time.

Then the guilt came, thick and crushing, and John knew he would never forgive himself if he didn't take the chance to save at least a group of kids.

Then the reply appeared.

**That's a good boy, Johnny. Thinking with your brain this time.-M**

John looked at the reply for a moment, a sudden thought popping into his head.

**Are you going to call off your bombers?**

**Well…-M**

John thought for a second that he had broken his phone in the flash of rage that followed the single word. But no, the phone was still whole in his tight grip. John was about to text back when a sharp knock sounded at his door.

"John? Are you all right? You've been in here for two hours." Sherlock called from behind the door.

Wow, had he really been in there for that long? He must've been more stressed over Moriarty and the game then he originally thought.

"Yeah, just, uh…reading." John hated the way his voice shook, but the stress must've saturated his blood, muscles, and mind.

He texted:

**Are you going to call them off?**

The reply was instantaneous.

**Fiiiiiine, god! I'll call them off, if you swear to follow the rules and only the rules of the game.-M**

Rules of the game. They could be any number of things the psychopath came up with. And he would be forced to go along-

**Helloooooooo? Johnny boy, I grow bored of waiting-M**

John swallowed. Then he reached for the water bottle on his dresser and swallowed some of it to ease the dryness of his throat.

In spite of the horrible thoughts swimming through his head, John pressed his fingers to the keyboard again.

**I'll play along with your little game, Moriarty. But first tell me the rules of the game, before we get started.**

There was a pause in which John was sure that Moriarty was laughing at him. Then:

**Aww, don't be such a spoil sport. I'll tell you, but in due time, Johnny boy. In due time.-M**

* * *

**Well, I hope you enjoyed Moriarty and his craziness!**

**As always, reviews are much appreciated so don't be shy to send them my way:)**


	4. Chapter 4

**_Two chapters in one day? I love you guys too much^-^_**

**_Warning:Minor swearing'_**

**_Disclaimer:Still not mine yet_**

* * *

John stared at the sentence, waiting for more. It took almost two minutes before he realized Moriarty wasn't going to continue. Brow furrowed, John scrolled back up the page, then down again, staring at the texts. Then he scrolled back up again.

"Oh."

A little blue box, containing a missed text sat cuddled in between the hasty conversation John and Moriarty had had.

**Let's play hide and go seek…-M**

John threw his phone back down onto the bed with a defeated sigh. Was this guy for real? He threatens to blow up an elementary school and then demands to play hide and go seek?

As John lay down on his bed, contemplating how fucked up Moriarty really was, his phone pinged from besides him. He grabbed it up and hastily unlocked it looking for the text. However, instead of another possible threat waiting for him, John found himself staring at a high res picture of Northumberland Street. It had to have been a recent picture, going by the new oak tree that had been planted just yesterday.

John did a double take as he saw himself in the picture by the fruit shop, picking up watermelons for Sherlock's over rated experiment; an experiment he did yesterday. So Moriarty had been following him for some time, no doubt looking for every little detail about his new pawn.

Another text:

_Game One_

He read the sentence below (though it seemed more like a continuation than a sentence)

…**so go seek me, Johnny boy.-M**

John went back to the picture and scanned it more thoroughly. He didn't know what he was looking for, but if one of Moriarty's men had taken the picture, then Moriarty was probably in hiding distance. He scanned the building windows, the store shops, and even in the dark alleyways. His line of thinking was: black heart, black hiding place.

That thought brought a small smile to John's lips for a moment as his eyes flicked back and forth over the picture.

"John, are you still there? I was wondering if you wanted to go get dinner."

"Yeah, sure. Just hold on a moment, Sherlock. I, uh… have to get ready."

"For God's sake, we're not going on a date, John! Just go out in what you're wearing."

"There is no way in hell I'm going out in my underwear. Just…just _wait_ a moment."

John could hear his flat mate shuffle loudly on the other side of the door. "Fine, but you're only getting two minutes."

John barely heard Sherlock walk away as he scanned yet another new text from Moriarty.

**I would advise that you go to that dinner with Sherly. It would be disastrous if you didn't.-M**

John's heart gave a loud thump. How did he know that? Sherlock literally told him five minutes ago, at the latest. Maybe they shouldn't go out; not listen to Moriarty this-

**And if you decide to not go out tonight, I know where your sister lives. Soooooo dress nice ;)-M**

He wouldn't, John told himself, cold sweat beginning to bead on the back of his neck. He's just bluffing, why would he try hitting someone so close to…

John scrolled through the text again with shaky fingers. He squinted at the texts.

Of course Moriarty would threaten the life of his sister. He didn't give a rat's ass about anyone but himself, and it was plain in his texts.

But… if what he was saying was true, then Moriarty would also be somewhere in the vicinity of the restaurant tonight, giving him a chance to corner the psychopath; a chance to force the truth of the game out.

Sherlock's voice interrupted his increasingly hopeful thoughts.

"Okay, John. It's been two minutes exactly. Whatever you're doing's got to wait, or I'm coming in there."

"Sherlock, hold on, I'm in the middle of something!"

There was a pause. "When you say you are in the middle of something…do you mean…you know, doing-

"No, I'm not…no, why-I'm not doing _that! _For God's sake, Sherlock, I was getting ready."

"Well then, hurry up. I made a reservation at Angelo's and he's expecting us any minute now."

"Okay, one minute, tops." He said to the door and turned back to his phone. "He's going to be somewhere in Northumberland street tonight. That's why he wants me to go with Sherlock to the restaurant so that I can find him. It's just another one of his twisted games." John zoomed into the picture, looking for more clues. "But where would he hide? There's got to be somewhere that I haven't looked."

"John, I'm not going to ask you anymore. It's now or I'm breaking your door down!"

John jerked his head upwards, fearing that Sherlock would ultimately break the black door off its hinges; he rather liked that door, too.

"Okay, okay. I'm coming right now, just go and call the taxi, Sherlock. I don't feel like waiting for it, and anyway, my sister's calling. I mean, you could always sit there and listen to her ramble on about her ex-girlfriend-"

"No, no. I'll go call the taxi, just…just be done with her when it arrives."

John sighed inwardly as Sherlock yet again shuffled away from his door. He was going to have to figure out a way to read Moriarty's messages somewhere a bit safer from now on, if he wanted to keep the game a secret.

* * *

It took John a full ten minutes to locate the four word password hastily scrawled in black marker above his head (and he knew without a doubt that it wasn't there before). He sat up straight, wincing when it aggravated his five minute stitching job, and took a better look. Sure enough, he could make out the glare of the marker, as if someone had written it on the picture themselves. John zoomed in a little bit more, noticing more hand writing.

It read:

_For the rules of the crossroad, enter the code. Be careful though, wrong code…BOOM!_

John sat back, rubbing his eyes. If this was how the game was going to pan out, especially right from the beginning, then he was sure to die. It was crazy how Moriarty operated, without a single care for any living thing so long as he got a kick out of it.

He moved the screen up again, looking for the four lettered password that was sure to be the correct one. And yet, it probably wasn't because John wouldn't put it past the guy either. He wouldn't make it so easy on the first go around, would he? Or maybe he was counting on John to second guess himself, which was probably the real goal. Either way, Sherlock was going to come back any minute and he had to make a decision

"I hope this is it." John mumbled as he hurriedly typed in **SEXY **into the new message box.

For a second nothing happened, and John began to fear that he'd entered the wrong password. But then his phone pinged from its spot besides him, alarming him to another text.

**Good job, Johnny! I am impressed, I really am. And for that, you get the rules of the crossroad, enjoy sexy!-M**

He smirked at the text, quickly scrolling down to a long list of rules.

**The Laws of the crossroad**

_The crossroads, yeah I know, very creative, themselves are the meeting places between the pawn and the master to discuss the rules of the upcoming game. The time in between each meeting place may be used to trade between the winner and the loser of the prior game. In order to make it more fun and formal because Seb does insist, these rules must be followed in order to keep things in balance:_

John considered this. Upcoming meetings? Trades between winner and loser? He was regretting his agreement even more so with every word he read.

_First rule: as each crossroad is supposed to signal a temporary truce, none of us is allowed to harm one another (no matter how much I wish it so.)_

_Second rule: In order to have total neutrality during the crossroad, all players must give and accept everything in equal measures, and you'd better not cheat me off, Johnny boy._

(Like he would even try with the psychopath)

_Third rule: Any and every question you have must be asked during the crossroad or I will not answer it._

_Fourth rule: All rewards and gifts of the loser and winner must be decided on by the beginning of the game exactly, no if's ands or buts, Johnny, following the game in question._

_Fifth rule: All final decisions must be approved by the master of the game, a.k.a, meeeeeeee!_

_Sixth rule: There will be a set day where all players meet for the crossroad. Informal meetings can be made by using the top secret password in a text._

_(Password? Like, some kind of secret word between the two?)_

_Seventh rule: If you so much as breathe outside the lines of the crossroad, I will issue the cruelest punishment in my arsenal, Johnny boy. Not to mention the elementary-_

Sherlock's voice cut into John's concentration. "John, the taxi has arrived. I hope you've wrapped up that ordeal with your sister."

John's head jerked up once again to look at the clock. It was a quarter after eight. "Yeah, she didn't take my advice to heart."

"Thought so, now let's go."

"Right, okay. Let me go get my jacket from the closet."

"And while you're at it, stop locking the door!" John returned to the final line in the text.

…_school that I have under eye._

"Damn, what is with him?" John muttered to himself.

"John…"

"I'm _coming_, Sherlock!" He powered down his phone, and stuffed it into his jacket pocket as he picked himself off of his bed. He was going to have to delete those messages from off his phone if Sherlock wasn't allowed to see them; despite the past few incidents where Sherlock had somehow gotten hold of his once erased messages.

John left the room quickly, attracting the curious stare of Sherlock. Maybe he would have some time in the taxi to come up with an excuse as to why he had locked himself away in his room for three hours.

However, once he got into the taxi outside, it looked like he didn't need to do any explaining. Sherlock had supplied half, if not all, of the conversation in the small vehicle on the ride to the restaurant.

He crossed his fingers, looking out onto the street.

* * *

**_Wasn't to bad a chapter, I think._**

**_Send any thoughts my way even if they are bad. I won't judge and I feed on them actually. And thanks so far to the people have reviewed.:)_**


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